May 1st.
Yesterday, April 30th, Admiral Fletcher turned “La Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz” over to the army. It was perfectly quiet, continuing to enjoy unknown prosperity. But of that later. At eleven o’clock, as we were about to go on shore, an envelope was brought to N. On opening it he found it was his recall from Mexican soil, and we forthwith departed for the shore to see Admiral Fletcher. He was receiving visitors, for the last time, at his headquarters, and N. was immediately admitted. Admiral Badger passed through the antechamber, in his strong, dynamic way, as I waited with Captain Huse, whose face and personality are graven on my memory as he appeared in my compartment that afternoon at Tejería.
Soon I went into Admiral Fletcher’s room, a great, square, high-ceilinged room, where he and Captain Huse had slept and worked during all those strange days, with another almost equally large, a sort of Neronian bathroom, opening out of it. A breeze nearly always blows in from the sea. N. was turning over the motor to the navy, where it will be of great service. It was a feat to get it down here with no further injury than a damaged clutch, which the clever seamen put in order. There was a good deal of coming and going at headquarters, so we soon left and went to call on General Funston at General Maass’s old headquarters. It ended by our remaining to dinner with General Funston—his first dinner in General Maass’s home.
I suppose I am not only the only woman who has had a meal there under two flags, but the only person. I went up the broad stairs with Colonel Alvord, the stairs I had last descended on General Maass’s arm. When I got there General Funston was in the large front room where the Maass family had lived and breathed and had its being. After greeting him, my eye roved over the room. On the table, with its white drawn-work cloth, was the same centerpiece of white coral (from which hung bits of bright green artificial moss) and the large silver cup; there was the silent piano, with its piles of worn music; the porcelain ship (sad augury), filled with faded artificial roses; the bead curtains dividing the big room in half; the rocking-chair of which the family had been so proud; even the doily that came off on my back! We went in almost immediately to the large, bountifully spread table, where the food was served in the Maass china. I, of course, sat on General Funston’s right, and N. on his left. His fine, alert staff, ready and anxious to take over the town and the country, the hemisphere, or anything else, made up the party. They were all very nice about my being there “to grace their first meal.”
General Funston is small, quick, and vigorous. There is a great atmosphere of competency about him, and he is, they tell me, a magnificent field officer. He had been to Mexico nineteen years before, thinking to invest money in coffee; now in the turning wheel of life his reputation is being invested in the situation which he is more than equal to. They are all afraid that some hybrid breed of “dove of peace”—“peace at any price” (or “preparedness for more kicks”—as some one gloomily observed) will flap his wings over the land. The army is ready, willing, and able to bring to a successful issue, in the face of any difficulty, any task set it. I am sure that the officers feel the cruelty of half-measures, cruelty both to our own people and to Mexico; they know war can’t be more disastrous than what we are doing. The dinner of ham, with cream sauce, potatoes, macaroni, beans, and pickles, came to an end all too soon. Coffee and cigarettes were served as we still sat around the big table. My eyes rested admiringly on those half-dozen strong, competent men in their khaki suits. It is the most becoming of all manly apparel—flannel shirt, with low, pointed collar, trousers like riding-breeches, leather leggings, cartridge-belts, and side-arms all in one tone. They are going to pack the Maass relics and turn them over to their owners. Admiral Fletcher had sent a message to General Maass, promising to forward all their effects. I must say I had a real conception of “fortunes of war” when they hunted for butter-dishes and coffee-cups in the Maasses’ gaudy china-closet. They had only got into the house in the morning, and had had no time for anything except the arrangements for taking over the town.
General Funston said he had a little daughter, Elizabeth, born to him the day he arrived in Vera Cruz. He also told us he had been routed out of bed, one night, by extras, saying “O’Shaughnessy Assassinated! Prairie Sunk!” and he felt that the moment of departure might, indeed, be near. He gave N. an historic pass to go between the lines at any time, and we left soon afterward, as it was nearing the hour for the officers to go to the function on the Sanidad pier—“a little Funston,” as Captain Huse called it. I shook hands with them all and wished the general “Godspeed to the heights.” Whatever is necessary, he and his strong, faithful men will do. We walked through the hot, white streets to the Plaza, and were soon overtaken by General Funston and his chief of staff, riding in a disreputable coche drawn by a pair of meager gray nags. I believe the navy arrived on the scene in our smart auto. A few minutes later I saw the general, in his khaki, standing by Admiral Fletcher, who was in immaculate white on the Sanidad pier.
Then began the wonderful march of six thousand blue-jackets and marines back to their ships. The men had had their precious baptism of fire. As ship’s battalion after battalion passed, there was cheering, lifting of hats to the colors, and many eyes were wet. The men marched magnificently, with a great, ringing tread, and made a splendid showing. If the old Indian on the hill could have seen them he would have recognized all the might and majesty of our land and the bootlessness of any struggle. The passing of the troops and their embarkment took exactly thirty-seven minutes. They seemed to vanish away, to be dissolved into the sea, their natural element. For a moment only the harbor looked like some old print of Nelsonian embarkings—Trafalgar, the Nile, Copenhagen, I know not what! The navy flowed out and the army flowed in. There were untold cinematograph and photograph men, and the world will know the gallant sight. N. stood with Admiral Fletcher and General Funston.
Sometimes, alone in Mexico City, with the whole responsibility of the Embassy on his Shoulders, N. would be discouraged, and I, too, fearful of the ultimate end. Had I realized the might and magnificence of the navy represented in the nearest harbor, ready and able to back up our international undertakings and our national dignity, I think I would never have had a moment’s despondency. I said something of this to Captain Simpson, and he answered, “Yes, but remember you were in the woods.”
Admiral Busch took us back to the Minnesota, where we arrived in time to see the returned men drawn up on the decks to be inspected by Captain Simpson, who gave them a few warm, understanding words of commendation. Some were missing. Peace to them!